


Of Meddling and Mistletoes

by Madlyie



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Courfeyrac being Courfeyrac, Gavroche being amazing, M/M, Seriously this is candy cane sweet fluff, The Return of Montparnasse the Coffee Shop Employee, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, oblivious idiots being oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 05:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8956876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madlyie/pseuds/Madlyie
Summary: It’s Enjolras’s grand idea to organize a Secret Santa gift exchange and of course, because the universe has it out for him or something like that, Courfeyrac just so happens to pick Combeferre’s name.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Christmas! To everyone who celebrates and to everyone else, I hope you have a nice couple of days! ♥♥♥  
> This is a gift for [ennjeura](http://ennjeura.tumblr.com/). (I’m sorry I didn’t manage to draw a thing but really, with my drawing ‘skills’ that’s really more of a good thing.) I hope you like it, and happy holidays!! ♥  
> (Also this was, as always, supposed to be shorter but god, do I love writing Courfeyrac’s inner monologue, honestly, that boy’s a hot mess.)

 

***

 

Most surprisingly, and maybe that was the reason this entire thing was so disastrously devastating, the whole Secret Santa idea was absolutely and completely, one hundred percent on Enjolras.

 

Or maybe it wasn’t _that_ surprising after all because Courfeyrac was not over acknowledging that he had chosen a best friend who was pretty great but who also happened to be a meddling little shit.

“You cheated!” Courfeyrac said as soon as Enjolras had opened the door and stormed past his slightly-asshole-y, annoyingly confused looking friend into the apartment.

He wondered if this was how those people had felt who had stormed the Bastille, all overflowing angry desperation, trying to free themselves from the chains of life-dictating tyranny - in Courfeyrac’s case from certain former best-friends.

He seriously debated throwing that absolutely perfect and not at all overdramatic comparison right at Enjolras because it was basically guaranteed to piss him off. But there were a couple more pressing matters.

“You cheated,” Courfeyrac said again, a little hysterically maybe, certainly if he was being honest with himself but well. “I don’t know _how_ you did it but you definitely, definitely did.”

Enjolras slowly closed the door. He cleared his throat then and turned to look at Courfeyrac with big, blue, innocent eyes, that absolute asshole.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Courfeyrac threw his hands - one hand - into the air and shoved the piece of paper in the other hand right into Enjolras’s face. The paper was crinkled from the way Courfeyrac had held onto it for the past half an hour it had taken him to follow Enjolras to his apartment, all the while staring at the familiar barely legible but still somehow incredibly elegant writing spelling out Combeferre’s name.

Also while contemplating Enjolras’s murder.

Or maybe not murder, which would have been a bit extreme perhaps, but definitely suffering. It was still quite useful to have a best friend to whine about things like crushes that were probably more than crushes, or actually just one crush.

His other best friends were not really an option for that what with one and the whole thing of _being_ said crush and the other being, well, Marius. Who actually managed to be in a stable, loving and additionally totally adorable relationship before Courfeyrac.

Jesus.

At least Enjolras could relate to the pining aspect of things because he was definitely pro at that himself, not that he would admit it but oh, Courfeyrac _knew._ Everyone knew. Everyone except one curly-haired, equally oblivious artist guy who happened to be the object of the previously mentioned pining.

But, in retrospect, maybe Enjolras wasn’t the best to half-drunkenly complain about Combeferre and Combeferre’s hands and Combeferre’s shoulder and well, everything because Courfeyrac didn’t remember giving him the permission to _meddle_ or whatever it was Enjolras was doing. Or pretended not to be doing. Because he was definitely doing _something._

Enjolras took the piece of paper with careful fingers and smoothed out the wrinkles seemingly unbothered by Courfeyrac’s - admittedly - silent fuming.

“Oh,” he said eventually. And of course, he had the audacity to look surprised when he smiled at Courfeyrac. “Look at that, you got Ferre!”

Courfeyrac briefly reconsidered every talk he ever had about peace and love and violence-shouldn’t-be-the-solution-folks in favour of strangling Enjolras.

“I know,” he snapped back and alright, yeah, he did sound hysterical, even he couldn’t pretend he didn’t, so _what._

Enjolras looked at him, looked down at the paper, back up at Courfeyrac.

“Wait, you think…,” he started and Courfeyrac definitely noticed the way his mouth twitched a little like he was trying very hard to suppress a smile that, did he mention, _asshole._ “You honestly think that somehow I manipulated the Secret Santa picks, with all of our friends around, so that you could pull Combeferre’s name out of a _bread bag_? And then you followed me home so you could yell at me? For a total _coincidence_?”

 

Well.

 

“If you say it like that it sounds ridiculous,” Courfeyrac muttered. And yes, he might have followed Enjolras to his apartment after the bi-weekly Amis-meeting in the Musain had ended but only because he hadn’t wanted to freak out with everyone else around and Enjolras made really good stop-freaking-out-hot-chocolate when he was actually following his duties as a best friend.

And alright, maybe Courfeyrac had been a little harsh there. But he _was_ freaking out and definitely deserved that hot chocolate.

“It _is_ ridiculous,” Enjolras said as if he had any authority on defining ridiculousness. Proof Number One: This ridiculous idea of a Secret Santa gift exchange and not only a Secret Santa gift exchange but a Secret Santa gift exchange where all the gifts had to be _self-made_ because those were more personal and less expressive in the already demanding time of Christmas capitalism, and “‘No, Bahorel, coupons don’t count’ - ‘I wasn’t…. okay, FINE.’”

“ _You’re_ ridiculous,” Courfeyrac threw back half-heartedly and flopped down onto the sofa in the entrance slash living room area that he never really knew how to perfectly define because ‘glorified hallway’ seemed a little mean.

It was a good sofa as well. Big and soft with cushions that were easy to bury your face in without completely suffocating.

He could feel dip in the sofa when Enjolras sat down. He lifted Courfeyrac’s feet and put them back down on his lap, and ignored Courfeyrac’s previous comment to simply continue, “And honestly, how was that even supposed to work anything out between the two of you, you giving him something for Christmas. You get him something for Christmas every year. I mean, unless you talk to him about your feelings instead of making me swear on Saint-Just, who’s already dead, by the way, not to tell him. Even though I totally wouldn’t let what is basically yourself count as a gift, you’re not that awesome.”

“Fuck you,” Courfeyrac said but it got lost somewhere in the pillow covering his face along with his smile, so he kicked Enjolras’s thigh for good measure. Enjolras just laughed because of course. Courfeyrac’s misery must be a high-end source of entertainment.

He was kind of right, though. It _shouldn’t_ be a problem to get something for Combeferre, not even something ‘personal’. Courfeyrac, Enjolras and Combeferre had been getting each other presents for Christmas since they were like, ten. It shouldn’t be a big deal only that in all the years before Courfeyrac hadn’t known he was also in love with Combeferre except for this year when he had, well, had an epiphany, was probably the best way to put it. He was well aware that even though he hadn’t _known_ about the nature of his feelings, they had been there, somewhere hovering around the edges, for a long time.

“It’s going to be fine,” Enjolras said and nudged Courfeyrac’s lower leg gently. Courfeyrac would have appreciated that more if Enjolras didn’t still sound very, very serious to hide the fact that he was definitely laughing at least inwardly at Courfeyrac’s antics.

Courfeyrac threw the pillow at his head.

“Come on!” Enjolras complained but he sounded fond too. It made the rest of Courfeyrac's- yes, probably ridiculous - anger disappear into thin air.

Instead of snapping back he sighed heavily. “You’re not going to let me get out of this one, are you?”

“Nope,” Enjolras said and squeezed Courfeyrac’s leg sympathetically.

Courfeyrac groaned and closed his eyes.

  
Maybe if sounded just hopeless enough, he would still at least get his hot chocolate out of this. With the little marshmallows on top.

 

 

***

 

  
“You’re hopeless.”

Courfeyrac didn’t bother dignifying that with a response, mostly because he was aware that he hadn’t much dignity left to begin with what with laying sprawled all over the counter hitting his head methodically on the top from time to time and clutching to his cup of coffee.

Montparnasse was looking down on him - in more than one way apparently - from his place behind the counter passive aggressively cleaning a cup with a checked dish towel.

Courfeyrac didn’t know how the hell anyone thought it was a good idea to give Montparnasse a job in a coffee shop that involved having to deal with people without being allowed to stab them.

Evidence A: Courfeyrac made the universally known gesture for ‘Fuck off’, Montparnasse simply snorted, completely and utterly unimpressed by Courfeyrac’s suffering.

“Way to kick someone who’s already down, Parnasse, real nice,” Gavroche commented from his spot on top of the counter munching on a piece of chocolate cake. Courfeyrac wondered if no one had complained yet that someone was sitting on top of the counter which could maybe be considered as kind of unsanitary but Gavroche had the advantage of looking quite cute for a twelve-year-old, with curly hair and big eyes, which was probably the exact reason why he was currently munching incredibly nice looking piece of chocolate cake that _someone_ had given him. And there were actually quite a few possibilities for whoever that might have been- even if Courfeyrac would bet a lot of money on Montparnasse’s stupidly attractive mug - because no one suspected the kid to be a _demon._

Or maybe, in Montparnasse’s case, they did and simply enjoyed supporting that development.

 

Gavroche nudged Courfeyrac’s head with his foot which, okay, _gross._

Courfeyrac half-heartedly swatted at him without looking up.

“What’s on your mind, young padawan?”

Courfeyrac turned his head to blink up at him. There was chocolate, basically all over his face.

“You’re twelve.”

“Thank you, oh wise one, I am aware.

“You should be _my_ padawan.”

“Of course,” Gavroche agreed but Courfeyrac knew condescension when he heard it. And Gavroche didn’t only sound perfectly condescending but exceedingly pitying as well.

 

Courfeyrac sighed.

 

He briefly thought about spilling his sorrows to a twelve-year-old and a possibly not even listening really bad coffee-shop employee and then thought, why the hell not. It wasn’t like it could get any worse.

“Enjolras organised this Secret Santa thing,” he started, “And I don’t know what to get for… the person I got.” Maybe he was spilling his guts here but well, he was drawing the freaking line at spilling his guts about his ridiculous crush on his ridiculous best friend.

“It has to be something nice, you know, and Enjolras insists on some self-made rule or whatever and I mean, I can’t even _do_ anything and I just want to get hi- them something nice, but not too nice but just… he, they, _they_ are just really important to me.”

Gavroche who had been listening to Courfeyrac’s pathetic excuse to string together words exchanged a glance with Montparnasse.

“Right.” He stressed the word, long and drawn-out.

Montparnasse looking busy like an actual good employee by continuing to towel what had to be a meticulously clean cup didn’t look up at Courfeyrac when he said, “You _are_ aware that literally everyone who has ever come to step into a ten feet radius of you knows you have thing for Combeferre, aren’t you?”

Courfeyrac bolted upright. “What? I? _What_?” His brain tried to catch up with his mouth. “I mean, that’s not what… that’s completely, I mean...”

Gavroche looked at him with a raised eyebrow that had Courfeyrac deflating in a matter of seconds, because, well, apparently there was no use trying to deny his ‘thing’ for Combeferre.

He slumped down again, placing his elbows on the counter and supporting his suddenly very, very heavy head with his hands.

“... everyone?” He finished lamely.

Montparnasse snorted. “Everyone,” he said and Courfeyrac wanted to die a little. Just a little. Life was usually pretty great but you know, some times. “Except Combeferre of course because you two are just _made_ for each other.”

And Courfeyrac knew how Montparnasse sounded when he was being snappy and sarcastic and the point was… he didn’t. He mostly sounded annoyed and Courfeyrac didn’t know why but it felt like something important.

“Well,” Gavroche grinned. “I’m sure we can think of _something._ ”

Courfeyrac wasn’t sure if he really liked the sound of that ‘we’. Gavroche looked thoughtful for a while, then snapped his fingers like he had just had the idea of a lifetime. Courfeyrac wasn’t sure if he liked that prospect either.

“You’re friends, right?”

“Best friends,” Courfeyrac corrected immediately. And if he sounded a little upset about it then what, he was only human.

Gavroche ignored the comment in favour of enthusiastically continuing, “So like, you know how sometimes when you’re friends with someone you just don’t realise how much time you spend with each other?”

“...yeah,” Courfeyrac said, carefully.

Montparnasse smirked but the expression was gone so quickly that Courfeyrac wondered if he had only imagined it.

Gavroche nodded enthusiastically. “Then what about,” he paused for the dramatic effect - Courfeyrac would have been proud if he wasn’t also kind of curious about where this was heading. “A gift that shows that you don’t just take his time for granted.”

Courfeyrac frowned because… he still didn’t really have any idea where this was heading. “Okay?”

Gavroche rolled his eyes. “Come on, just think of something he likes to do and like, organise a real nice day for him instead of the usual like, eating cookies and yelling at the news.”

“That’s more Enjolras’s thing,” Courfeyrac said.

Gavroche rolled his eyes even harder. “Just think of something he likes to do that you don’t do in like regular-friends-time.”

And well, Courfeyrac had to admit that the idea didn’t actually sound that bad. He could spend some quality time with Combeferre, and Courfeyrac was an awesome person to spend time with, he might not be able to write a poem or bake or knit a self-made and personal scarf but he was good with people.

“That’s actually not a bad idea. Like a super-amazing-best-friends-forever-day.”

“Yeah,” Gavroche said dryly. “Only, of course, you wouldn’t be there.”

“What?” Courfeyrac blinked and Gavroche let out a long suffering sigh.

“It’s _Secret_ Santa, dumbass.”

“Language,” Montparnasse said.

And because Courfeyrac couldn’t think of any way to respond to _that_ he decided to ignore it and turned back to Gavroche. “So, you mean I plan Combeferre’s perfect day… without me.”

“Exactly!” Gavroche nearly jabbed a triumphantly raised finger into Courfeyrac’s eye.

Courfeyrac frowned again.

“Huh. That’s…,” he trailed off and bit down on his lip. He didn’t know why he felt disappointment at the thought only that yes, he did know why and it was purely selfish and stupid. “I mean, yeah.”

He forced himself to smile and when he actually really considered the idea, it was still a good on.

“I can just… make sure he has a really great day without me or well, anyone hanging off his back or something, that’s probably… that’s a good idea. Awesome.”

Montparnasse looked at him, looked at him a little longer, then snorted and shook his head. Courfeyrac focused his attention on Gavroche who looked gleeful and enthusiastic as he licked the remaining crumbs of chocolate cake off his fingers.

“We should like, totally brainstorm ideas!”

And just like that Courfeyrac’s last resolve melted away because alright, he did have a soft spot for that boy, who didn’t, and he also really wanted to make a nice gift for Combeferre.

After they had thrown around a couple of ideas Courfeyrac was even tempted to take back the demon thing because Gavroche had actually been really helpful and they managed to make a plan that was pretty good and when Courfeyrac went home he didn’t even feel like freaking out or sorry for himself so there was that.

 

When he told Enjolras later as he flopped down onto the really amazing sofa in Enjolras’s glorified hallway, Enjolras stared at him. Then he cracked a smile, after a little while too long, disbelieving and surprised, and said, “Yeah, that’s a really nice idea.”

Courfeyrac would have taken more offence at the little faith Enjolras had in his gift-giving skills had it actually been Courfeyrac’s idea but he still pouted a little, just because he could.

At least until Combeferre arrived with take-out and a smile that made Courfeyrac’s inside all warm and fuzzy like a soft blanket, the smell of honey and cinnamon, all the snow and coldness left right outside.

“You alright?” Combeferre asked as he sat down next to Courfeyrac on the sofa, knocking their knees together.

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac said smiling back at him, and right then he meant it because Combeferre was sweet and beautiful and his best friend and sometimes falling in love with him wasn’t an ache but exactly that feeling of warmth and acceptance and love.

 

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

 

***

 

A week later, three days before Combeferre and Courfeyrac were going to be taking the train down south to see their families for Christmas, Courfeyrac got a text from Combeferre that he had been expecting.

 

From Combeferre: _Hey, can we do breakfast tomorrow? Something kind of came up, it’s a Secret Santa thing, I guess?_

 

The text was followed by a picture of the first page of a letter that Courfeyrac knew all too well because he had been the one shoving it under Combeferre’s door earlier in the morning. Gavroche had insisted on the typewriter font though and also because of ‘secrecy’ and because he was twelve. Could have been Comic Sans, and well, Courfeyrac supposed it did look kind of cute.

Very vintage-Santa. Or something like that.

 

To Combeferre: _haha, no problem!! Looks kind of cool, have fun!! :)))_

 

He then threw the phone onto his bed and after a moment of consideration himself as well.

It was still kind of early so it wouldn’t hurt to lay down a little while longer. It wasn’t like he had anything to do because he couldn’t accompany Combeferre on his really, really nice day because that would, of course, revoke the notion of Secret Santa, as Gavroche had continuously insisted as if he could read Courfeyrac’s mind. Maybe he could, who knew. 

About half an hour later Courfeyrac’s phone beeped from somewhere under his cocoon of blankets and after a moment of calculating Courfeyrac figured out that Combeferre had to be at the small patisserie now, not far away from his apartment. Courfeyrac knew that he had always wanted to go ever since moving in but never managed so far.

 

From Combeferre: _So hey, you remember that patisserie I was telling you about? Turns out the fruitcakes are absolutely heavenly, we should go sometime._

 

The point was Courfeyrac _knew_ because he had been there the day before telling the incredibly amused and practically cooing employees of his amazing plan so yeah, if they would be so nice to give the tall, dark and handsome guy who should come around at approximately eleven one of those fruitcakes and this letter with further instructions, thank you very much.

 

To Combeferre: _yeah sure, we should do that.  
_

 

Courfeyrac kind of would have liked to bury himself in his blankets then for the rest of the day but Combeferre obviously insisted on continuing to tet him. He continued texting Courfeyrac when he got the book from the one guy that Courfeyrac had talked to who still had his little book stand at the Seine open in winter, along with the text a picture of a soft, snowy Paris that Courfeyrac forwarded to Enjolras because he didn’t know anyone who loved the city as much.

He continued texting Courfeyrac when the Secret Santa letters guided him to that little gallery Grantaire had talked about, the one that had the whole ceiling painted as an accurate depiction of the December sky over Paris.

He continued texting Courfeyrac when he got to the small Italian place that Courfeyrac loved so much because of the people, the atmosphere, from the music to the food, reminded him of home and of family. He hadn’t taken anyone there, except for Marius once when he had just been kicked out, run away from his grandfather’s house and looked like he needed any bit of warmth and welcomeness he could get. Courfeyrac knew what Combeferre was going to get because Courfeyrac had talked to the chef and owner of the restaurant, an adorable old Italian-born lady who had happily agreed to help with Courfeyrac’s plan with a warm, warm smile.

Courfeyrac loved old people.

 

And then, Combeferre stopped texting.

 

At first, Courfeyrac assumed he had to be busy with eating, the food really was incredible there, but after over an hour without anything new, he began to well, worry a little. If everything had worked out like Courfeyrac and Gavroche had planned it, Combeferre should have been home by now, after getting that Christmas bouquet from the flower shop around the corner of his apartment.

But it wasn’t like Courfeyrac was really expecting anything.

This whole thing was a Secret Santa gift exchange, after all, emphasis as repeatedly stated on the word ‘secret’ and Enjolras had been amended that the point of it was doing something good instead of expecting gratefulness. Or something like that.

Courfeyrac hadn’t really been listening which was pretty rare when it came to Enjolras talking but at that time he had been a bit distracted by freaking out about picking Combeferre’s name.

 

He wasn’t freaking out now, he was definitely over that. So over that.

 

Well, he was a tiny bit nervous, he supposed but not like, incredibly.

His gift was awesome and he was sure Combeferre had enjoyed the day because he _knew_ Combeferre, not only in the sense that they had known each other since they went to primary school but also he just… knew.

So he really had nothing to worry about, it was absolutely fi-

 

There was a knock at the door and Courfeyrac bolted upright.

 

Marius had already headed over to Cosette to Cosette for the Christmas days so unless he had forgotten something - which was a very Marius possibility - it couldn’t be anyone but Combeferre or Enjolras or some neighbour asking for sugar or something. Courfeyrac liked the first two options more than the third and hoped and dreaded the first more than the second.

He opened the door and his stomach did a funny thing similar to what standing somewhere high looking down felt like.

He had a bouquet of what appeared to be a bouquet of mistletoe and Christmas roses - pretty sweet actually, Courfeyrac would have to thank Mabeuf again - and his eyes were dark, his hair windswept and snow on his scarf and shoulders.

 

Courfeyrac swallowed. Hard.

 

“Hey,” he said.

The word got out a little too late but he put up a smile accompanying it, so maybe it was going to be fine.

Combeferre blinked at him like he didn’t comprehend or heard what Courfeyrac had said.

Courfeyrac was used to Combeferre being either gracefully composed or adorably enthusiastic but this time he just seemed well, kind of crazy, a suspicion that got confirmed when he eventually did say something, rushed out like a breath held in too long. “Was this a date?”

And Courfeyrac’s thoughts just… stopped. “ _What?_ ”

“You...” Combeferre bit down on his lip, which was just _unfair,_ and obviously wrecked his stupid amazing brain for words. “I mean, the patisserie, walking along the Seine, the gallery, the _Italian place_? These.” He stopped again, waving the flowers in the general direction of Courfeyrac’s face. “You took me on a date and you weren’t _there._ ”

 

And then, a couple of things slotted into place in Courfeyrac’s head, first of all being, “Oh my god, that _demon_ child!”

 

Combeferre’s expression turned from confused to utterly lost. “What?”

Courfeyrac didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry so the sound he let out ended up being some weird hiccup sort of sound.

“Gavroche,” he all but groaned, not particularly as an answer to Combeferre but more at the universe in general because seriously, screw all that. Twelve-year-olds weren’t supposed to _meddle,_ even less so than best friends, they were supposed to like, whatever, read comics and listen to Justin Bieber.

“I can’t even…,” Courfeyrac trailed off again rethinking the whole gift idea in his head and groaning again because oh my god, how could he have been so stupid. “That little… spawn of the devil, oh my god, of fucking _course_ it was a date!”

In another horrifying moment of clarity, Courfeyrac remembered that Combeferre was still standing in his open door with that damn bouquet in his hands and his hands looked cold because he always forgot his gloves, all the time, and dammit. Combeferre who still looked wide-eyed and slightly maniac but - to Courfeyrac’s relief - not angry.

He didn’t even look like he was trying to think of a way to let Courfeyrac down gently.

He looked breathless, and he sounded breathless when he asked, “It was?”

And then it was Courfeyrac who suddenly didn’t quite remember how to breathe because that tone, that _tone_ didn’t sound angry or apologizing. It sounded -

“Courf?” Combeferre prompted and his voice was urgent and trembling a little and … _hopeful_?

Courfeyrac looked at him, wide, beautiful eyes brown eyes and then Combeferre licked his lips and alright, Courfeyrac thought hysterically, they were already right past the point of no return here so what the hell, carpe diem or whatever.

“It was…,” he started, his throat feeling so dry like he hadn’t been able to breathe in _months,_ then started again, “If you want it to be?”

And he couldn’t help the questioning tone there, just couldn’t help it because he was, had been so sure Combeferre was his best friend, his best friend _and_ nothing else.

 

Combeferre didn’t answer but took the last couple of steps into the apartment, the mistletoe got squashed between their chests - and oh, Courfeyrac thought, _oh -_ and suddenly they were kissing, or more like, Combeferre was kissing him and Courfeyrac was just trying to keep up.

His head was swimming and his pulse was beating harshly as Combeferre’s hand glided between strands of Courfeyrac’s hair, tugging his head up, just the right angle for Combeferre to kiss him deeper, open-mouthed, kissing Courfeyrac again and again, bruising and wet and _good_ and just this side of desperate that it made Courfeyrac’s knees go weak.

And Courfeyrac who had wished, waited for this moment reached up to clench his fingers in the fabric of Combeferre’s coat at his back, stepping impossibly closer, their bodies pressing together except for where Combeferre was still holding that damn mistletoe between them.

Combeferre broke away first and Courfeyrac let out a noise of protest because what, no and _more_ but it soon turned into a whole other sort of noise altogether when Combeferre continued kissing along Courfeyrac’s neck angling his head with his hand still buried in Courfeyrac’s hair to reach the spot just under his ear.

“Ferre,” Courfeyrac gasped not knowing if he was asking or telling or just voicing the only thought in his head, the only thing he was aware of right then, Combeferre’s lips, Combeferre’s hands, Combeferre’s voice in his ear, next to his thunderously beating heart.

“You have to… you have to know I’m crazy about you.”

He sounded just as breathless as Courfeyrac felt, even more so maybe and that suddenly threw Courfeyrac right into the _reality_ of this, of Combeferre here, with him.

Courfeyrac laughed, happily and overwhelmed.

“I didn’t,” he said right into Combeferre’s shoulder holding him tight, tight. “Oh god, I didn’t.”

Combeferre leant back just enough to cup Courfeyrac’s face with his palm, soft and warm. He looked at Courfeyrac, and Courfeyrac looked back.

Combeferre gently traced his thumb along Courfeyrac’s cheekbone. “You do, now.”

 

And Courfeyrac looked at him and _knew._ Even though it might take awhile to get to used to it, to fully _believe_ because he felt like he was about to overflow with happiness. But then, Courfeyrac supposed Christmas was just the right time for believing.

“Yeah,” he grinned and then because it felt like an incredibly waste of time to have Combeferre this close and _not_ kissing him, he did.

 

Also, Combeferre was still holding the mistletoe and it would certainly bad luck or something, not to follow through on that, right?

 

***

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You're always welcome to come by and be emotional about Courferre with me on [tumblr](http://vintage-jehan.tumblr.com/). ♥ Beware the Christmas these days.


End file.
